I minded his not caring more, but not badly.
I thought:
‘He will care when it is there.’
And I was so happy myself, so full of happiness, that nothing else could matter very much.
Next day I went down into Oxford Street to shop, and I looked at the people in the bus, and thought:
‘Which of these women have had children? How many of them have known this wonderful thing?’
Most of them probably had known it and yet they looked quite ordinary, quite dull and unexcited, and thinking of dull little things. I felt then that I could never be the same again, that I could not even look the same as I had a few months ago.
I thought:
‘How could anything else count at all if one has a child?’
And I was afraid crossing the streets that I should be run over, afraid when I was in the bus that it would upset, because this wonder was too great and this happiness.